


slow hand

by estora



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: AU from Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estora/pseuds/estora
Summary: “I realise you are prone to foolhardy, self-sacrificing heroics, Mr Dresden, but I never thought to take you for an idiot.”Marcone offers Harry an alternative.AU fromChanges.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Pointer Sisters' [Slow Hand](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbk29JZdl5A&list=RD0fIXdLKSwu0&index=11). Also an accidental homage to _Even Hand_ if you want.

I lay in the darkness, shivering with weariness and the effort of the magic. I pictured Maggie in my head, in her little-girl dress with ribbons in her hair, like the picture. 

“For you, little girl,” I said. “Dad’s coming.” 

It took me less than half a minute to restore the spell, and not much longer than that to build up the next wave of energy I would need. Until the last second, I wondered if I could actually go through with it. Then I saw a horrible image of Maggie in her dress being snatched up by a Red Court vampire, and my whole outraged being seemed to fuse into a singularity, a single white-hot pinpoint of raw, unshakeable will.

“Mab!” I called, my voice steady. “Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness, Queen of the Winter Court! M—” 

“I realise you are prone to foolhardy, self-sacrificing heroics, Mr Dresden, but I never thought to take you for an _idiot_.” 

The magic snapped; the spell dissipated. I felt the magic burn out and I swore. 

Gentleman Johnny Marcone was not a small, lithe man; he was a little shorter than me (when I wasn’t, you know, laid up with a snapped spine) but the sheer strength of his presence made up for his non-existent physical shortcomings. He hadn’t made a noise at all upon entering – I wasn’t even sure how I’d missed his arrival. 

He was alone. No Hendricks, no Gard. 

“Who the heck even let you in here?” I complained, twisting my head as he approached. “Where’s Molly? What did you –” 

“Outside keeping Mr Hendricks and Ms Gard company. It took some convincing to gain her permission to speak with you privately.” 

“That doesn't explain what _you're_ doing here.”

“I was made aware of your situation.” Marcone strode to a stop before me. “I wished to pass along my condolences in person.” 

“How thoughtful of you,” I sneered, but it didn’t come out nearly half as intimidating as I’d wanted it to; instead, I just sounded pained, exhausted, and pathetic. “Condolences not accepted. Leave me alone.” 

“So you can bind yourself to Winter? I daresay I arrived just in time to prevent you from making a mistake you would regret for the rest of your life.” 

Of course he’d have an opinion on it. He was still bitter that I’d turned him down all those years ago; now I was planning to throw myself at Mab’s mercy. The man might not walk around with an obvious ego, but his pride was almost definitely bruised. 

“Uriel wouldn’t help,” I said. “Neither would Vadderung. This is a ‘mortal matter’.” I swallowed a snarl. “This is my _only choice_.” 

“ _No_ ,” Marcone said, his voice like a clap of thunder. “It is an ill-thought plan based on despair and refusal to consider the resources at your disposal.” 

“I’m paralysed from the waist down, my spine is _broken_ , you _asshole!_ And even if I could walk, I don’t have the power necessary to take on the Red Court.” 

“So you’re giving up,” Marcone said, coolly. 

That pissed me off more than my snapped spine, more than the fact he’d interrupted the spell, more than his entire unwelcome presence. “I don’t care what you think this is because you’re wrong,” I said. “There is _nothing_ I will not do for my daughter and I expect _you of all people_ to understand that!” 

He didn’t react in an obviously visible manner. He blinked, inhaled steadily, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, ever so slightly. He turned from me, walked away, then lifted a chair from the corner of the room set it beside me where I lay. He sat on it and crossed his legs, and observed me with a gaze that made me feel almost naked. Then he looked around the room instead, his expression turning thoughtful. 

“My sister was baptised in this church,” Marcone said. 

My brain was dealing with a lot of things. The non-sequitur of unsolicited personal information threw me. 

“Your – what?” I blinked and shook my head. “You have – had a – why are you telling me –” 

“I met Lloyd Slate once,” Marcone said, looking at me once more with purpose. “He was a vile man, an animal of base desires controlled by a human intellect with access to too much power. Mr Dresden – whatever lists we have put each other on, whatever our intentions towards each other may be in the distant future, it would be remiss of me to not express how ardently I respect you.” 

I blinked. 

“Perhaps you would withstand the mantle of the Winter Knight better than Mr Slate. But equally – perhaps you will not. To see you become a slave to the mantle would be nothing short of a tragedy, not just for the future of our city –” 

_Our_ city. Interesting. 

“– but for _you_. If after our conversation you still feel it is your only option, I will not stop you. I know time is short. I know you fear for your daughter’s life. But I ask you for a little patience.” 

Well. It wasn’t every day Chicago’s mob boss told me he ‘ardently respected’ me. 

“Make it quick,” I muttered. 

Marcone nodded. “I have procured the means to heal you, in order for you to accomplish what needs to be done.” 

It sounded too good to be true; the ultimate deal with the Devil. “And what would I owe you for this miraculous deal,” I asked, blunt. 

Marcone’s money-green eyes glinted in the candlelight. “Your service to me.” 

Ah- _hah._ Catch-22, etcetera. I rolled my eyes and geared up to turn him down flat, but he continued. 

“Consider it, Mr Dresden. Would you rather be bound to the Winter Court, becoming Mab’s creature and losing all you are –” 

“Without the power of Winter I might not be able to save her at all, I already told you that I would do _anything_ for my daughter.” 

“– or would you rather retain your mortality, your soul, and your free will, so that you can be the man you need to be for your daughter _after we save her?_ ” 

The force with which he said it rendered me silent. 

Worse: it rendered me _hopeful_. 

“You really think we can rescue her,” I said quietly. 

“I do,” Marcone said. 

“If you’re lying – if you’re _wrong_ –” 

“Then our contract will be null and void, and you will owe me nothing.” 

I closed my eyes, hating myself for even considering it. He hadn’t convinced me, not by a long shot, but I wouldn’t let him mock me again for not ‘considering the resources at your disposal’ by being hasty _now_. Needed more information. 

“How do you plan to heal me?” 

“I have something very valuable to trade to an interested party, for the means to restore you to your full health.” 

“Oh yeah?” I drawled. “And just what _am_ I worth to do you, Marcone?” 

Marcone’s eyes flickered, ever so slightly. “Your worth to me is incalculable. Such a price demands something of equal cost.” 

That was both not an answer, and far too much of one for my liking. The man was incapable of speaking clearly. 

But he was capable of speaking honestly. 

I closed my eyes. “Just… give me a minute,” I muttered. “To think it over.” 

Marcone inclined his head and stood. “I would consider it a personal favour if you refrained from attempting to contact Queen Mab again,” he said. “I will await your decision.” 

He left as quietly as he’d arrived. Molly came in immediately afterwards, probably to make sure he hadn’t garrotted me. I didn’t want company, but I was grateful for her silent presence by my side as I lay there in the church where Marcone’s sister had been baptised. What a weird, uncomfortably personal anecdote. Why had he mentioned it? It was probably a calculated way for him to get my guard down, to feel like I could trust him, which I didn’t and never would. 

But we both knew that about each other. If nothing else, John Marcone was consistent that way. We knew exactly where we stood with each other. 

And worse, he’d been right. He was annoyingly, frustratingly, horribly right. If it was a choice between selling my soul to Winter for more power than I’d ever tasted at the cost of becoming a monster, and selling my soul to John Marcone for full health at the cost of working for him with my free will intact... 

“Molly?” I whispered. 

She was by my side in a heartbeat. “I’m here, Harry.” 

I grasped her hand, dread my throat. “Get Marcone back in here. Tell him –” I swallowed. “Tell him I accept.” 


	2. chapter two

I signed the contract with my Name.

I’ll be honest: I don’t remember a lot about the night after that. I was in too much pain, and the drain that came with the transfer of power as I indentured myself to Marcone was the last thing on my mind while Maggie was still in danger. All that mattered was that I was still me, I had free will. Sure, I had bound myself to John Marcone and I would remain bound until either he terminated the contract, or the stipulations were not met, but God, I hoped they would be.

For my daughter.

The rest was a blur. I vaguely recalled Gard was in the corner of the room on a mobile phone, murmuring to the person on the other end that it was done, or maybe she was scowling at it because it snapped and exploded with a burst of sparks in her hand when I unleashed an accidental wave of magical energy from the agony as my entire body screamed as my spine un-cracked and the nerve endings re-established connections. I felt Molly’s presence, practically fractured her hand with my grip as I endured the pain.

There was only one other thing I remembered with absolute clarity as my back knitted itself together and my wounds healed: the way Marcone stood as still as a statue, his expression grim where he stared into the flickering flames of the candle, until Hendricks joined him at his side and murmured into his ear. Marcone nodded. Shook his head. Nodded. Nodded again. He thanked Hendricks and faced me as I stood on shaking legs, as though my back had never been broken at all.

“Mr Dresden,” he said. There was a cold, calculating glint in his eye as he raked his gaze over his newly acquired property. I withheld a shiver. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

I didn’t have the power of Winter at my call. I had an army. Murph, Thomas, the Grey Council. And Marcone.

Avengers, assemble.

Marcone was a fucking _machine_. I didn’t know his past, no one did, but I’d long guessed he’d had something to do with the military. Marines, maybe, or black ops, or something unfairly cool like that. Swept up in the battle as I was, with the rage and pain of finally understanding Martin’s horrific plan, I wouldn’t know until much later just how many of his forces died.

I was grateful for the assistance. But I’d never resented anyone more than I did Johnny Marcone as I held Susan, writhing in my arms when he ordered, “You have to end this _now_ , Harry.”

I didn’t obey because of the fucking contract. I obeyed because I knew it was the only thing to do.

I carried Susan to the altar. I told her that Maggie would be safe. She was in pain, she was terrified, she nodded. I put my left hand over her eyes. I pressed my mouth to hers, swiftly, gently, tasting the blood, and her tears, and mine. I saw her lips form our daughter’s name as I used the knife.

I saved my daughter.

I won the war.

God forgive me.

The next thing I remembered I had Maggie in my arms, wrapped up in the heavy feather cloak her mother had left behind. She was still shivering and crying quietly, but only in sheer reaction and weariness instead of terror. The shackles lay broken on the ground behind me – Marcone had snapped them off without hurting her, and in that moment I was grateful for his presence, because I’m not sure I’d have been able to do it.

Then we were ushered into a helicopter, then from the helicopter to a private jet, then from the private jet to a car, and finally from the car we were ushered into a mansion.

 _Marcone’s_ mansion.

And honestly? I was too tired to complain. Hell, it’d be nice to spend a night in luxury before I became his slave.

Marcone, weirdly, didn’t leave my side either until we were inside where he introduced a woman whose name I forgot the second he said it, but in my defence, I’d just committed genocide and sacrificed the mother of my daughter at an altar, so sue me. Marcone bade me farewell. I didn’t return the gesture, not out of pettiness (though there was a bit of that) but out of sheer fucking exhaustion.

The woman in her fifties with kind eyes and a sad, warm smile gestured to take Maggie from me.

“It’s all right, Mr Dresden,” she said, gently, when I flinched and clutched Maggie tighter. Maggie, who had been slipping in and out of sleep for the past several long, unending hours, was still shivering in my arms and clung right back. “She’s safe now. You both are. We have a doctor waiting to look her over.”

Right. We both needed to be tended to; we both needed to get into clean clothes, and we both needed rest.

“I’ll carry her,” I said.

The woman nodded and led me through Marcone’s... building? Residence? Work/home base?

Oh, God. I was homeless. I didn’t even have a _car_. What sort of low-life, deadbeat father –

“Your quarters, Mr Dresden.”

“ _My_ quarters?” I repeated as I was shown into the nicest goddamn apartment I’d ever set foot in in my life.

“There is a fully equipped lab downstairs,” I was told.

Jesus, how long had he been planning this for? All of this was just – what, _waiting_ for me? That was creepy, even for Marcone.

“Those are my books,” I said, my eyes drawn to the bookcase on the other side of the room. Last I’d seen, it was busy being engulfed by flames. “How did...”

“Mr Marcone arranged for the contents of your apartment to be recovered if they could, replaced if they could not. We also found a cat and a dog. They’re being looked over by a veterinarian and will be returned to you in the morning.”

Mouse. Mister. I clenched my eyes shut and tried not to cry into my daughter’s hair.

“There was a – a skull,” I managed to say.

“A skull.”

“It’s important.”

The woman pulled out a notebook – handwritten, smart – and flicked through the pages, a frown creasing her brow. “There _was_ a skull recovered, but it’s being held elsewhere. I’ll arrange for it to be returned as well.”

“Thank you.”

She pointed towards my bedroom, Maggie’s bedroom, the kitchen, the bathrooms, and left, and was replaced by the doctor I’d been promised. The doctor arrived and introduced herself, and asked me to allow her to look Maggie over.

Maggie clung to me, and I hesitated.

“She’ll be all right, Mr Dresden,” she said, patiently. “We’ll just in the next room.”

I didn’t want to let my daughter out of my sight, but I knelt down to let Maggie stand on her own. She clutched the blanket around her shoulders, still shivering.

“She’s just gonna make sure you’re not hurt,” I whispered. “And get you cleaned up. Okay?”

Maggie couldn’t meet my eyes. But she nodded and whispered, in the smallest, saddest voice I’d ever heard, “Okay.”

My heart fucking broke.

I took her hand. “Call out for me if you need me.”

She nodded again, and was gently escorted away.

I stood there in the middle of my new unfairly luxurious prison cell, cold and empty. I found my way to a bathroom, which was just as horribly fancy as the rest of the place. It had a bathtub. A really _big_ bathtub. I could probably go swimming in it, if I wanted. There was a fluffy white robe in my measurements – creepy – hanging up in there. I took off my jacket. My shirt. My pants. I stepped into the shower, which thundered hot water down my aching shoulders and body. I washed Susan’s blood off my hands, and I wept.

* * *

The thing with a power vacuum is that something’s gotta fill it. Marcone, it seemed, was determined to be that something.

I didn’t see him _at all_ in the weeks that followed. I saw Hendricks from time to time; I even saw Gard once in a while. Marcone, though – he avoided me. Like the _plague_.

I wasn’t asked to _do_ anything while Chicago’s Baron and mob boss single-handedly decided to move in on the vacated territory, so I spent those weeks settling in my new “home” with Maggie, both glad for the breather and constantly on edge waiting for the proverbial shit to hit the fan.

Murph visited every few days; so did Molly, but her discomfort at being in Marcone’s mansion was pretty obvious, so I let her off the hook and told her I’d visit her at her place instead when I was sure Maggie would be up for it. I slept. A lot. I ate decent meals when my appetite came back, which seemed to be every couple of days in between nightmares about Chichén Itzá, the Red Court’s destruction and Susan’s death at my hands. Maggie had nightmares, too – she didn’t scream at night, no bedwetting incidents like I’d been warned by the doctor who told me it wouldn’t be unusual with her level of PTSD, but she woke up often, which resulted in her emerging from her bedroom in the dead of night to curl up on the couch with her Susan’s cloak. I set up wards to let me know when she left her room. I didn’t join her at first, not until she caught me watching her from the doorway and she shifted on the couch to make room for me.

Look. Until a few weeks before that, I didn’t even know I had a kid. I was _vastly_ unprepared for fatherhood. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, or what I was even supposed to do. Maggie seemed to know it too, but she was too polite to say so.

I learned about Maggie’s childhood over those weeks. Asked her about her school, her friends, but those topics turned real sad real quick when she realised she’d never see her school or her friends again, so I dropped that and asked her about her interests instead. Turned out she was a big reader, so I started reading some books to her – picture books I’d found on the bookcase, that had obviously been supplied by Marcone.

And that, right there, set off the cycle again of me not being able to relax. Because I was in Marcone’s mansion; I was sleeping on his furniture, I was eating his food, I was, for all intents and purposes, _his property_. And I hadn’t seen him at all for _weeks_.

Until, one morning, I did. There was a knock on the door to the quarters – weird set up, I thought, not for the first time, to have the equivalent of a two-bedroom apartment inside a mansion, but what did I know about rich people? Very little – and I left Maggie to her books to answer it.

“Mr Dresden,” Marcone greeted. “I hope I’ve not disturbed you.”

Fresh haircut, new suit, tailored to his built frame, the faintest hint of an _amazing_ cologne, and in his hand, a small gift bag. I was almost flattered.

“Uh, no,” I said. “Not at all.”

“May I come in?”

“It’s your building,” I said.

I must have sounded stupid, because the look he gave me made me feel it. “These are _your_ quarters, Mr Dresden.”

Like how I was _his_ property. I scowled and granted him entry.

“I apologise for my lack of communication in recent weeks,” he said. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

“World dominance is a full-time job?” I drawled.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Something like that.”

I glanced down at the gift. “If this is an extravagant way of amending my contract, I’m gonna have to rescind my welcome to you.”

“Ah.” He gestured to it. “It’s for your daughter.”

Goddammit. I wasn’t going to start a scene in front of her, and not in Marcone’s mansion, so I gritted my teeth and walked Marcone over to where Maggie was not-so-subtly pretending to read her books.

“Maggie,” I said as she stood, “this is Mr Marcone. He’s… my boss.”

I resisted the urge to spit after saying that.

“Hello,” she said shyly.

Marcone lowered on a knee, to put himself at her height. “Miss Maggie, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. Smooth fucker. “How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” she said quietly. “I… I like my bedroom.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Marcone offered her a small smile and passed the gift bag to her. “A belated welcome gift.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Marcone inclined his head – then spoke in Spanish.

Maggie’s eyes lit up and she smiled. A real, proper smile. She’d issued a few over the weeks, but for the most part had been sullen, sad and silent. Seeing her brighten and respond to Marcone in Spanish, rocked me with a wave of relief and joy, and, okay, a little bit of resentment. He must have said something about me, because Maggie glanced at me, and smiled shyly.

“I know. _Gracias_ ,” she murmured.

Marcone offered her his hand, which she shook with a small giggle, then he stood and turned to me.

“A word in private, Mr Dresden?” he said.

I came over and dropped a kiss to Maggie’s forehead, then ushered her to her room to unwrap her gift.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said when we were alone.

“There are many things I do not _have_ to do, Mr Dresden, and yet I choose to anyway. She is a delightful young lady. You should be proud.”

See, shit like that is why I couldn’t file him away neatly into the ‘monster’ box. I hated that sometimes – sometimes he could _almost_ get me to like him.

“I am,” I said. “Now what do you want?”

“I will require your services soon.”

Just like that, I stopped thinking I could almost like him. My spine, right where it had been broken, clenched with dread. “I’m surprised you didn’t put me to work the second we got back to Chicago.”

“I am not an unreasonable employer,” Marcone said. “You’re not a slave, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re not a slave, Mr Dresden. You are entitled to the same benefits any one of my employees is, including leave. In fact, you ought to take advantage of the dental plan included in your contract.”

“You included a _dental plan_ in my contract?”

“It’s quite comprehensive. You _did_ read it, didn’t you?”

I had. But I was also lying there with a broken back and faced with a choice of Mab’s ownership of Marcone’s ownership to save the daughter I’d just found out I had, so sue me if I didn’t memorise the fine print. “What’s the matter, you don’t like my smile, Johnny?”

“I’d certainly prefer you were more conscientious about your mouth hygiene,” he said. And what, exactly, did _he_ know about my mouth hygiene? Was that comment supposed to make me feel offended or creeped out? “Indeed, your health in general. I’d hate for my latest acquisition to be unfit in any way.”

“Don’t make it weird, Marcone.”

Marcone smiled. “You’ll be pleased to know that Ms Murphy has accepted a contract as well.”

 _Murph_? I almost growled. “What did you threaten her with?”

“You obviously do not think highly of her if you think _I_ could have threatened her into doing anything. You ought to ask her directly. She’ll be visiting you later today.”

He turned to leave. I stopped him by his arm. “You didn’t come here just to butter me up by giving Maggie a gift. What are you playing at?”

Marcone inhaled sharply and glanced down at my hand around his elbow. I released him like I’d been burned.

“You’ll receive your orders in due course,” he said, his voice cold now. I felt jarred and unnerved long after the door had closed behind him.

I went to check on Maggie, who had unwrapped the bribe Marcone had given her. He’d gotten her a doll. Not just any doll, but some crazy beautiful porcelain-faced doll with tumbling locks of brown hair, painted cheeks, and a collection of hats and dresses. Maggie was so enamoured, she didn’t even look at me until I sat down beside her.

“Wow,” I said.

“She’s _beautiful_.”

“She got a name yet?”

Maggie cradled the doll in her arms. “Susan,” she whispered.

My heart broke all over again. I kissed the top of her head. “Oh, kiddo,” I muttered. “What’d he say to you?”

Maggie didn’t pull her attention away from her new toy. “He said that I’d be safe with you,” she said, quietly. “That you’re a good man.”

Not gonna lie – that choked me up.

Fucking Marcone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! I live for your feedback <3

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway Jim Butcher is a coward who won't let Harry and Marcone make the two-backed beast. Not that I ever want to see it actually happen in canon (let's be real, I wouldn't trust him to do right by it) but that foe-yay in _Battle Ground_ was outrageous. Don't write that shit unless you have the balls to follow through.
> 
> This is an AU from _Changes_. Sorry if things don't quite match up with the book; it's been a long time since I read it and I'm not going back now to make things accurate. Too much worldbuilding. My approach to canon is "Aw, cute. Anyway -"
> 
> This fic has been heavily inspired by both [The Matter of Chicago](https://archiveofourown.org/series/6455) by callmearcturus and LuciaZephyr, and [Choices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/197131) by Kethrua. These are both absolute hallmarks of the Harry/Marcone ship and if you haven't read them, what are you doing here? Go read those instead! Point is, any thematic similarities between my fic and these two amazing works is very intentional, because of how inspirational they've been. More tags & characters to be added as they occur to me.
> 
> If you like my writing, come follow me on [Tumblr](http://hlmoorewrites.tumblr.com/deathsembrace) \- I have two m/m fantasy romance novels out!
> 
> Comments welcomed/encouraged. please validate me.


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